


Halloween (or the one day a stab wound looks like a costume)

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Delirium, Everyone is nicer, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's a blood bath, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Platonic friendships, Stabbing, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2018, a little ooc, cursing, so much blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: October is the month of chai tea lattes and plastic fangs for Baby.  Not with Doc or the criminals, of course, they’re like a pack of cannibalistic animals that eat each other at the first sign of weakness.  Or Halloween spirit.He’d like to think he doesn’t deserve to get shanked in the street on Halloween night.(Day 1 of Whumptober: Stabbing)





	Halloween (or the one day a stab wound looks like a costume)

**Author's Note:**

> Goddamn I love Whumptober. sorry if this doesn't make sense, it's 10:42 PM and I started this at 9. I'm manic with Halloween energy.

October is the month of chai tea lattes and plastic fangs for Baby.  Not with Doc or the criminals, of course, they’re like a pack of cannibalistic animals that eat each other at the first sign of weakness.  Or Halloween spirit.  So, Baby celebrates at home with Joe.  He decorates where the angle of the windows wouldn’t reveal it to the people passing by, glancing up, checking that Baby isn’t doing anything that Doc doesn’t like.

 

He’d like to think he doesn’t deserve to get shanked in the street on Halloween night. 

 

Sure, it’s genius to stab someone on the one night of the year where it isn’t that weird to see someone stumbling down the street with blood running down his pants and into his shoe.  As he wheezes and weaves around on the street, kids giggle, parents grimace, and people his age just laugh and congratulate him on the realism. 

 

The moment the knife plunged into his stomach, Baby’s voice was stolen.  He can’t speak and he can barely breathe and he doesn’t deserve this. 

 

The lights – all purple and orange and pumpkins and ghosts – are so badly blurred that he can’t see.  There’s ghouls walking around and tiny superheroes swerving around him.  Baby’s Chucks snag on each other and when he looks down, the whole world smearing, he notices the laces have come undone.  The pain flares horribly when he starts to bend over so he forgoes tying them again.  He’d rather trip than have his nerves spark with agony like that.

 

Baby gags on the blood creeping up his throat and nearly throws up on the sidewalk as the light changes.  He doesn’t know who pressed the button and he can’t hear anything.  His headphones are in his pocket and he can only hope they're safe from the blood soaking his jeans. 

 

_Monster Mash_ is playing quite loudly from a building that he knows houses some college students, for which he is grateful.  He knows they aren’t playing it for him but it drowns out his tinnitus enough to focus on where’s he’s going.  Baby stopped paying attention about…some time ago.  Now he only needs to focus on compartmentalizing the agony and blood loss.  Baby looks around, simultaneously lightheaded and feeling like his head is too heavy on his neck, and realizes he’s at the doors of a parking structure he hates.

 

Baby doesn’t have health insurance. 

 

He opens the doors by falling on them and lies on the floor for a while.  All traces of Halloween are gone.  He’s cold and he’s tired; his joints dig into the floor.  Baby can feel himself drifting away.  He lets it happen.  Well, he would have if the door hadn’t burst open before he could. 

 

The adrenaline in his system has worn off, allowing the pain to manifest like a little devil in his stomach.  It burns and feels like someone’s clawing at his innards.  So, Baby doesn’t care why the door has burst open.

 

He starts caring a little more when whoever it is yells his name with a mix of anger and concern.  It’s an intimidating combination made worse by the fact that he recognizes it as Buddy’s voice.  He has no idea why the man is here on this night when he should probably be having role play sex with Darling or stealing candy from children, lacing it with cocaine, and eating it.  Or something.

 

Anyway, Baby is fading away again while Buddy rants and calls someone, and then rants some more.  He’s almost peacefully unconscious when Buddy reaches down and pulls Baby toward him.  Big mistake – Baby starts screaming as soon as Buddy touches him, jarring his stab wound, and keeps screaming while Buddy scoops him up and readjusts him in his arms.  The fireworks in his stomach die down once he’s relatively still and he’s able to stop screaming and opts instead to whimper and groan as Buddy rushes into the elevator and bends down to press the elevator button. 

 

The elevator dings placidly.  Baby mumbles pleas for the pain to stop, hoping that someone will hear him and help or get him away from Buddy.  He isn’t especially afraid of the man at the moment, or in general, but Buddy’s cologne is choking him. 

 

No, wait, it’s the blood spilling from the sides of his mouth and trying to fill up his lungs.  He chokes desperately for a second, feeling more lava spew from the hole in his stomach, and feels slightly better when he can breathe again but also slightly worse because blood is now all over Buddy.  It sprayed across bright blue lapels and his bare chest.  Baby could’ve laughed at the risqué cop costume that Buddy chose to wear but that would take too much oxygen and energy.

 

Buddy curses, loudly.  “Jesus Christ, Baby.  Who fucking did this to you?  Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”  The elevator dings again and he strides into the War Room, as Baby likes to call it.  Buddy looks pale and horrified.

 

“Crackhead Dracula,” Baby wheezes out.  It hurts to speak and to breathe but he giggles instead of inhaling and blacks out for a second.

 

He comes to when someone slaps him hard across the face.  Blinking up at Doc, Baby gurgles and lurches, nearly head-butting Doc’s mouth.  A fascinating amount of blood spills from his mouth and leaks out of his nose.  Baby is lying on the table they usually sit at when Doc lays out the plan.  Buddy, Darling, Doc, and a man he doesn’t recognize stare down at him. 

 

“Stay away or I’ll punch you next time,” Doc growls.  “You’re my goddamn driver.”  _Stay alive._

 

“Hurts,” Baby says.  It sounds like ‘herrz’ because his tongue is too big in his mouth and he wants to go back to sleep.  “'Is Halloween.  Got stabbed.” 

 

Buddy has changed out of his cop costume, to Baby’s great lament.  “We know, jackass, just…don't die.  You owe me a costume.”

 

The man Baby doesn’t recognize has had enough, apparently, and barks, “Get the hell out and let me do my job.”

 

The room clears pretty quickly, which clues Baby in as to how nightmarish he looks.  The man introduces himself as The Surgeon and stays silent after that.  Baby doesn’t have the strength to fight or even raise his head when the man injects something into the wound.  He’s grateful for the injection, actually, because he doesn’t care if there’s heroine in there, not when the pain ebbs quickly until the entire region around his hip goes completely numb.

 

He feels The Surgeon dig around in the wound but only feels the sensation of pressure.  Baby makes a low noise in his throat when he’s asked if he’s still alive.  After an indefinite amount of time, the man steps away from Baby and calls the others in. 

 

There’s dried blood all over Baby’s face.  His light blue shirt is ruined and his new jeans are, too.  He wants to be at home with Joe, eating candy and watching Halloween specials, not lying on a cold table surrounded by criminals.  Doc sends away The Surgeon after accepting the bag of blood in exchange for money.  Buddy and Darling approach the table.

 

“Why’re you here,” Baby mutters.  “Don’ you have…crime t’do?”

 

“It’s Halloween.  We were watching specials and making out.”  Darling stops cold in her tracks when she notices tears spilling from Baby’s eyes.  “Oh, Baby.”

 

He stifles a sob.  Baby can vividly remember Crackhead Dracula pulling a knife on him in the dark alleyway, demanding money.  He’d been on his way to the coffee shop to get a chai tea latte and he got _stabbed_ on Halloween.  It hurt and he’s scared and he wants Joe.

 

Baby closes his eyes against the burning in his eyes.  Darling’s hand carefully pushes back the sweaty hair plastered to his forehead.  She hushes him quietly; Baby realizes he’s been mumbling everything and he’s dissolved into tears and _I want Joe_.

 

“Get him into the back room.  Stay with him, don’t fuck, hook him up to the blood, and uh…buy some coffee in the morning.  I'll pay you tomorrow if he's still alive.”  Doc’s voice fades as his footsteps get closer to the elevator.  It dings and he’s gone.

 

What must be sutures holding Baby’s insides from spilling out twinge when Buddy picks him up again.  He’s much more hesitant this time – probably because the last time Baby was this close to Buddy, he spit up a bunch of blood on his sexy cop costume.  Buddy sets him down on one of the cots and steps away, coming back with several blankets.  Darling stands to the side with the blood bag and IV stand.

 

“Let’s get that shirt off.  It’s…it’s disgusting.”  Buddy reaches out slowly as if not to spook away a scared animal.  Baby surrenders to him quickly; usually, he wouldn’t be okay with Buddy taking anyone’s shirt, off much less Baby’s own.  He doesn’t fight, though, because he knows if he or Darling wanted to kill him, there would be nothing Baby could do to protect himself.  “Uh, you okay with your pants, too?  Should I leave them on?”

 

Baby does feel better with the shirt off.  “Off.”  He can’t bring himself to care about being so vulnerable because he’s already sobbed in front of these two.  It doesn’t matter if he’s mostly naked.  He got shanked.  With the shirt off, Darling expertly plunges the needle into the crook of Baby’s elbow.  She’s either a nurse or an experienced drug user and Baby would bet good money on the latter.

 

Once Buddy’s thrown Baby’s clothes to the side, Darling piles on the blankets.  Baby lets the warmth sink into his tired body.  The blood loss is making him shaky, sweaty, and cold all at the same time. 

 

“Happy Halloween, Baby.”  He doesn’t know who that is and he doesn’t care because he’s finally asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh  
> Doc called Buddy and Darling to make sure Baby didn't die when he saw that Baby was, in fact, dying. Doc obviously has cameras all over the parking structure so when he saw Baby, he told Buddy to get his ass over there in five minutes and he would get 5,000 dollars.  
> I love October.


End file.
